Open windows, curtained with white muslin blowing in the cool breeze
Breezeways every which way through the house
Breezes that are cool
Air that is pleasantly warm and no more
Sunlight that's warm and gentle
A sun that is cheery and yellow
Blue, blue skies
Puffy white clouds
Big tall white and gray and blue clouds (not green) that shimmer with lightning, pour out rain on the grass and garden, toss the leaves and branches with fine, stiff gusts, and move off into the cool evening
Dark, cloudy days in season, with stiff, nippy winds and warm, bright clothes to bundle in
A good fire inside when the day is cold outside
Birds that sing and play in the birdbath all day long, even in the afternoon
Tall, tall trees that aren't necessarily pines
Spreading pecan trees with branches drooping to touch the ground, laden with big fat green pecans
Chasing squirrels away from said pecans
Canoeing up down the river/creek, unmolested by heat or bugs or other wildlife
Large families with cousins and uncles and aunts and neighbors, all dropping in to work and play any time in the day
Singing simply for the joy of it, and the fun of playing with harmony
Singing and talking while working with one's hands - companionship in labor
Roses that bloom all spring, summer, fall, and into winter

__________________

I admit it is better fun to punt than be punted, and that a desire to have all the fun is nine-tenths of the law of chivalry.Lord Peter Wimsey

Still, cool mornings, when the sun is just peaking over the horizon and the birds are singing and the sky is blue, and you feel like you're the only person awake in the world.
The same when you're with your dog.
Beautiful autumn colors and fall leaves. Sugar maples.
Long walks under the same.
The month of October.
Beautiful blue skies... especially in October.
Running barefoot over cool grass, especially in the early morning or under the stars.
Still mountain lakes.
Hiking trails and pine trees and clear, pine-scented air.
Rock climbing in the Black Hills with my cousins.
Mountains...
Forests.
Eagles, horses, dolphins, wolves, cheetahs, and all other manner of magnificent and beautiful creatures.
Sitting out on the front step and watching thunderstorms.
The type of rainstorms that roll in and roll out just that fast and leave the world fresh and new.
Log houses.
Good books.
Good puzzles.
Time to enjoy said books and puzzles.
Peace and contentment.
Faith, hope, and love.
Beauty and wonder.
Singing just for the joy of it.

Everyone should have to do this once in a while... it's very much a healthy relaxant.

The entire month of October in my home town. When the mornings are cold and grey and the grass is cold and wet. When you breath the air and it's never felt so fresh. When the sun rises as you leave for the day and you see the pink sky greeting you. When it warms to a comfortable 60 degrees and the sun gently falls upon the crimson and gold leaves still fragily perched upon the branches of ancient trees. When squirrels chatter from above as you walk silently across the grass. When the sky grows terrifyingly dark and an unexpected afternoon storm blows its way through, inconsiderately pulling your carefully styled hair from it's place and blowing water droplets at you until you let your hair down, turn your face to the sky and laugh with the thunder above you. When you wake up to the first snow fall of the year... and immediately run outside with no coat to throw a snow ball. When you realize just how cold it is and drink hot cocoa under a warm blanket, curled up with something of Tolkien's. When the weather is changing and you still cling to summer, but you can't wait for the first real blizzard of the winter. The sort of soft snowfall that only arrives after the first cruel ice storm. The mewling kittens that cuddle up to your neck and purr. When your overgrown puppy holds still long enough for you to fall asleep using her as a pillow. When you just can't stop laughing. And when you have a good cry and feel all the better for it. Receiving unexpected letters from friends that miss you, and receiving unexpected compliments from friends you've just met. When you get stung by a bee and the RA treats your minor problem as though it is simply the most important thing on the planet to her... and you know that at that very moment... it is. When you know that you are away from home for the very first time... but you realize that you aren't away from people that love you. When it occurs to you that Firefoot is right, and that this particular exercise is very good for your mood.

New York - the city, the suburbs, the whole thing. Even a long commute - an hour and a half each way. Riding the train at nine-something in the morning. Watching the sun growing higher. Seeing people just like you on their way to a long day. You look out the window and you see the Hudson. You know it's polluted - that it would be bad judgment to swim in it, and that you should be careful even eating fish from it - but right now it looks so blue. Except it also reflects the hills - some of them still virgin land, trees as far as you can see, with birds soaring overhead. Some mornings you see deer from the train window, eating in the woods. You hear the quiet chugging of the train from inside the car - it's going to be a hot day, over a hundred degrees, but for now you're in the air conditioning of the car. You turn on your favorite music - the music you listen to almost every day when you're going into or returning from your job in the city. You know all day you'll be fielding phone calls, listening to customers and your employers, but right now your ears are your own. You can choose what you hear - either the cool riff of the saxophone in jazz or even the sharper riff of Carlos Santana's guitar. Or you even choose a group like Athlete or Embrace, hearing a quiet song building into an all-encompassing anthem. Singers singing of other lands, loves, cities just like yours - in a different time and place but still the same. Because music can connect us all. You see people around you, reading the atrocities in the paper, but being somehow soothed by the headphones they have on. You sneak a look at the display window: 50 Cent, Beethoven, Elton John, Whitney Houston, Nirvana, Modest Mouse, Annie Lennox, Eminem, 'N Sync - every possible artist with every possible genre. But they're all connected because that's what it's about - that's what the city's about: music. Listen when you walk through it - you can almost always hear music somewhere. And if you don't hear music, you hear a rhythm. The city has a beautiful rhythm from the time you step off the train until the time you get back on - it's as though it's breathing. Next time you're in New York, listen: it goes in and out and in and out. A steady, melodic breathing of people, machinery, cars, animals, life. And it's a see of color - skin, fabric, art, buildings - anything you can imagine, and a feast for your ears: Yiddish, Spanish, German, Russian, Japanese, Arabic, English, Korean - I would hear all of these every day on my way to work. The little things - the doorman greeting you every day, asking where you're going to lunch, what designer you're visiting, whether you have to pick up a dress, if you're going home for the day, what days you're working this week. A conductor on the train not charging me for taking an On Peak train with an Off Peak ticket - smiling and asking how I am, getting a large drink when I ask for a small, with the provider smiling, he asks me how long I'm working in the area. Some men holding a door open for me, or helping me when I do have to carry a dress through the rain, even though I'm only walking three blocks or so. Coming into the cool, cool air of the collective after walking through hundred-something degree heat. The relief of the finality of the day - walking back through the heat, the journey seeming so much shorter, stopping to watch someone play music along the street - even in the evening, the music is still coming - seeing the college students protesting in front of the library, stopping at a small coffee shop to order an iced coffee before climbing on board the train, sitting down, examining my sore feet. Once again I put my headphones on, the day complete, out of the noise of the phones and the customers and the heat and the chaos. Sitting next to someone who's curious about my work - curious about where I'm going to college this year. Then climbing off the train and seeing my father in the car. Going home and seeing my cat - and my dog, though I'll never be able to see him again, seeing as this is the one week anniversary of his death - seeing my mom and having dinner just almost ready - but there's time to shower, wash the city off of me, forget the rhythm and the beat for now. Immerse myself in the silence of the suburbs - the silence punctured by the sounds of crickets, which in themselves sound almost like more silence. The drone of the Yankee game - the outcome important but not imperative. Relaxing on the couch, in my pyjamas, retreating into my own room - my own room - with the silent darkness, the blinds drawn, the silence and the dark colliding so that fantasy and reality become one. the soft feeling of my mattress, my pillows that smell like me - not like a dorm or a new smell, but me.

At the same time:
Boston, a new city, my new source of freedom and excitement. Different from New York - there is no pulse to Boston, no groove. You just meander. When I try to create my own beat, it gets lost amidst the chaos of walking. You walk to get somewhere, not to establish a beat. But there are the colleges - the students just like you, male, female, of every race and religion you can imagine - even just all in your one Residence Hall. People your age to be with every day - people who share your passion for learning, who want to go to class, but who also want to party at the same time. Going to class during the day with compassionate teachers who want to be there - who teach because they love people your age. Then at night on the weekends, going out - the excitement of leaving your all-female campus, venturing out. The cool breath of night whispering on the back of your neck, the sound of shouting, music, joyous celebration coming from the fraternity houses and dormitories. Men, women, boys and girls all together celebrating their youth. You know that it is time to embrace it and love it - make it your own. Conversation and flirtation with a random stranger, the pulse of music, making up for the rhythm the city lacks during the day. Talking about what you want to do with your life: your hopes, dreams, aspirations, none of them out of your reach. No one tells you to be more realistic or to explain your motives - they have their reasons for wanting to be doctors, biologists, engineers, so you must have your reasons for wanting to learn about Middle Eastern Studies, International Relations, Theater. New friends - the awkwardness of new friendships - the excitement of it. Learning about your similarities and finally reaching the point when the boundary breaks and you feel like one - the first time you hug a friend when she's leaving to go home to New York for a weekend. You hug her and miss her and envy her returning to New York. But you rejoice at your own ability to stay - leaving Friday means she can't come with you Saturday night, when the world becomes alive. The smell of the bus, looking out the window as you cross the Charles River - the city nowhere near as impressive as New York at night, but quaint - beautiful, even with some of the tallest buildings still being churches. The laughter as you discuss a desperate guy making a move on you, the jokes about the people who get out of control, the comfort of being with friends - not by yourself - as you're venturing out into the world of strangers. The exchange of e-mails, phone numbers, the invitations to come back whenever you want - and to bring more friends, as many friends as you can find. Coming home exhausted, sleeping, dreaming of him and her and them and us - of all pronouns in all tenses, mixed, evolving and swirling. Because that's what college is about - the combination of pronouns, putting them in order in your life: I, we, you, he, she, them. But also always knowing that you'll be able to go back to New York, to leave the pronounces and the static and return once again to the rhythm and silence.

__________________
"I think we dream so we don't have to be apart so long. If we're in each others dreams, we can be together all the time." - Hobbes of Calvin and Hobbes

Dick wiped the suet from his brow as he scaled yet another great sponge dune.

“Custard, custard …” he muttered incoherently through parched lips. A shimmering on the horizon caught his eyes. Was it the fabled Sticky Toffee Oasis, or merely a mirage?

He had been wandering the great Pudding Desert for days on end and currantly had little raison to expect rescue. Some earned their bread and butter crossing its great expanse but for Dick this was no mere trifle.

Happily, salvation came only hours later when a passing caravan of caramel traders spotted Dick.

Quote:

Nevermind I take it your not from Great Britian?

__________________Do you mind? I'm busy doing the fishstick. It's a very delicate state of mind!

Ah, but a truffle is not a Great British Pudding, all examples of which I hereby assign to the Shire (in an effort to drag this thread back on topic from the mischeivous side road that I have taken it down).

__________________Do you mind? I'm busy doing the fishstick. It's a very delicate state of mind!

The opportunity to have ice cream as long as the dining hall is open. I only eat it once a week or so, but it's nice to see it there. Someone endowed the school with money for "24 hour ice cream" because they thought it was the one thing missing when they went.

__________________
"I think we dream so we don't have to be apart so long. If we're in each others dreams, we can be together all the time." - Hobbes of Calvin and Hobbes

Spring with its call to life; bullfrogs among the rushes at the edges of The Pool; fiddlehead ferns unfolding

Summer with it's thick lazy days, the air filled with the drone of bees . . . healthy bees, beyond number, their legs heavy with pollen

Autumn clean and chill about the edges; smoke curling in the air as fields are burnt off; quilts airing in the meager sun then folded away with the last of the dried lavender so they'll be fresh when the snows come

Winter chapping the broad faces of the lads and lasses; crackling fires in the hearths; and old stories to get us through the dark

~*~ Pio

__________________Eldest, that’s what I am . . . I knew the dark under the stars when it was fearless - before the Dark Lord came from Outside.

Location: an uncounted length of steps--floating between air molecules

Posts: 844

Disappearing Railroad Blues...

In the spirit of VanimaEdhel's rant on the experience of particular cities (I've never been to Boston, and NYC only the airport, so I'll add my own Southern fried experience of a city much talked of recently):

My memories of walking through New Orleans, the particular and unique steam and stench that mixes with the dust of ages and hints of dust imported from France long ago, the pleasant cryptic maze to find a single well-hidden grave in St. Louis Cemetery Number 1 and the strange selfless moment when you divest yourself of something, anything to offer as you scratch three X's onto the monument of Marie of Family Glapion and make a wish...the history in miniature as you see bouquets of flowers and thank you notes surrounding the special yet homogenous crypt stone....then, then pang as you wonder if it is still there now. Memories of long afternoons spent searching for the 'Chicken Man' of Voodoo, heedless of where that might take you; knowing there are secrets for the discovery if you only set your eyes on the right things in the City of New Orleans.

Cheers!
Lyta

__________________
“…she laid herself to rest upon Cerin Amroth; and there is her green grave, until the world is changed, and all the days of her life are utterly forgotten by men that come after, and elanor and niphredil bloom no more east of the Sea.”

Finding wildlife in your garden, even though it's a tiny city garden. I have seen squirrels and bats here this year, and there is a large female toad who lives under the shed, but it seems a brood of baby frogs has made a home in the Lobelia. One is larger than the others and has been there a few weeks but last night around 8 little frogs hopped out when I went to water the plants. There are also several colourful Orb Weaver spiders making their webs around my garden, including one right across the back door.

A pencil set. Not new, because no art supplies can be perfect unless they have taken on a bit of their owner. But nearly new, and still a novelty. With several pencils in different hardnesses and shades of grey... three separate sticks of charcoal, still clean-edged. A brand new kneaded eraser waiting on the side lines to help you when your hand strays. A tortillion, for seamless blending. A well-crafted sharpener that keeps your tips perfect. The feeling that comes from working with high quality supplies. The feeling that comes from knowing how hard you worked to pay for it.

You're camera, and the feeling you get when you just took an incredible picture... and you know it.

The Shire has me thinking lots of things, mainly though, these things:

The all knowing Bernard Shaw. I don't know why, but I could see him acting like god in Shire quiet comfortably. Don't get me wrong, he's a wonderful man, but I don't know how those poor hobbits could keep an argument with the man, being that he hasn't any friends and his enemies love him.

A middle-classed dandy. Comfortably situated leaning on a fence, exploiting his vainity to the young hobbit boy working in his mother's garden.